Drabble City, Tonite
by August Fai
Summary: I wanna be a part of it: a series of drabbles with various pairings and tastes. Slash, femslash, het, all rolled into one. Vague and not vague. Romance abounds.


A/N: A series of drabbles I wrote when I felt drabbly. (Er. Right.) :D  
**Warning**: Contains slash and femslash. Meaning homosexual themes. Also sexual themes. And just themes you have to guess for.  
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Will I ever? Oh, do stop. 

**Drabble City; To-Nite.**

_bedtime stories_  
'Luna, my princess, Luna, my witch, Luna, my Rapunzel. Ginny is the prince.'

Ginny thinks back to her bedtime stories.

"Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your long hair," she calls from behind the princess with the flaxen gold curls,  
"O Princess, can you hear me?"  
Princess Moon turns around, her cheeks pink and giddy. She looks tired and pasty-skinned, and, Ginny thinks, maybe if the Prince kisses her, she will awaken. And Ginny looks around for a prince, but she doesn't find anything except her own reflection. So Ginny, the Valiant Knight, tries again:

"Rapunzel...!"

But the piece de royale hasn't enough hair to let down. Instead, she offers words.

"Come here," she almost-sings, and Ginny falls under the witch's spell for the seventh year in a row. "Let me tell you a story."

_xx_

_evil_  
'Hermione feeds on Slytherin.'

Hermione likes the taste of evil in her mouth.

She likes swirling it around like ice cream, feeling the savory liquid dissipating onto her tongue. She likes to feel it moving around in her mouth, biting the corners of her lips, and making her pink flesh bleed. Evil prods at her cold sores and sucks all the sweetness away, and when evil leaves, Hermione is left feeling dry and empty, and yet strangely fulfilled with a twisted sort of satisfaction.

That is why, by midnight on Wednesday, Hermione is known to Pansy as the dirty, dirty Mudblood. She leaves the dungeons and sucks on the inside of her cheek. She tastes evil--the breaking of rules, the snapping of ties, and the speaking of filthy words. _Hmmm._ Well, then. She straightens her shirt and reminds herself to ask Harry how Slytherins usually taste. When he doesn't answer, she'll answer for him.

_xx_

_fire_  
'Come on baby, light my fire.'

Fires entrance Harry.

Ginny has hair like a fire, a particularly hostile fire--she moves and whips and snaps around like a candle on a windy day. She shines at different hues and emits sparks when stroked or spoked. She hisses when you throw water on her, just like a cat, and she arches and contorts her fragile-seeming body when feeling overtakes her. But unlike a fire, she cannot be put out. You will try; and you will walk away scathed.

"Ginny," Ron barks as she giggles too loudly for his comfort, "be quiet. I'm trying to study."  
"You?" Ginny giggles again, and Harry watches the fire ripple. "Ron, stop lying. You don't study. You _Hermione_."  
Hermione looks up, amused. "What, I'm a verb now?" Ginny grins; and Ron blushes.

Harry smiles, but the fire has him locked in, has her eyes on him, has words playing around her lips. Perhaps he will walk out untouched. But no--the next day, he wakes up with the scent of ashes on him, and he is burned. And he likes it.

_xx_

_kiss_  
'Draco does not ever beg. Persuasion is seductive.'

You will kiss me, and I will die.

Did you ever hear of that Snow White story, where that princess wakes up because some prince kissed her? Cherry-red lips, she had, my Mum told me, and he was brave and valiant, she mentioned. Yeah, well. It's not going to happen this time. Hey, Potter--_look_ at me. Do I look like I've got cherry red lips? Are you brave and valiant? Am I a princess? Are you a prince? And where are the furry woodland creatures?

Playing pretend is so _old_. Let's play reality, shall we?

Reality means that this is the story of Harry and Draco, where this soldier falls and can't get up because there's no more will, and no more strength, and not even a voice can make him stand up again. Draco, you call. Draco, Draco, get up, we're almost there, we've almost got him, Draco, come on--look, there is cherry red blood. This is the story where I fall, Harry Potter, and you, _mon heros_, want me to get back up again. But I can't. And if you kiss me, I'd surely die.

So kiss me, alright? Kiss me, and that's the last thing I'll feel.

_xx  
__mon heros_ my hero; French.

_xx_

End Note: So if you're smart, you'd have gotten the pairings. First was Ginny/Luna, second Pansy/Hermione, third Harry/Ginny, and fourth Harry/Draco. This does not go in the order of what I ship the most. My O(ne)T(rue)P(airing) is Harry/Draco. Second comes Harry/Ginny. Third, Ron/Ginny and Ginny/Luna and Seamus/Blaise and Ron/Hermione. Oh, come on--fourth place just sucks. ;)


End file.
